


Henry the Searcher

by HershelChocolate



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Gen, Henry found dead in miami, Hes alright but he died
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-02-27 05:37:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13241550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HershelChocolate/pseuds/HershelChocolate
Summary: After chapter 3, an update to Henry the Ink Demon was absolutely necessary! Henry gets turned into a Searcher after a bit of magic goes wrong. Will he be able to survive the studio? Will Boris even recognize him? Will he be able to continue eating entire cans of bacon soup??? Who knows!!! Not Henry!!!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> After a long hiatus, I'm back! Hoping to write a lot more often this year! Not to worry, Pre-Bendy Buddies will be updating again soon! This was just what I had the most inspiration for. Seemed like a good way to get back into the swing of things! Thank you all for reading!

_Sheep sheep sheep it's time for sleep_  
_Rest your head_  
_It's time for bed_

The song echoed throughout the room. Henry struggled against the ropes tying him up, but to no avail. His mind raced, trying to come up with a solution when his train of thought was suddenly interrupted by frantic screaming

Sammy was panicking, calling out to his savior to spare his prophet. What happened to him while Henry was gone?

His shouting wasn't doing any good either, and Henry stared at the speakers in horror as he heard the prophet give a final shout before succumbing to the ink.

_Well, at least that's one threat down._

It was only then that Henry realized he was still tied up. He struggled, straining against the ropes. Where did Sammy even find these? This is an animation studio for goodness sake.

Henry's attention was drawn by a loud groan. Searchers.

Great. Just what he needed.

They were coming, four or five of the ink-coated monsters were crawling their way toward him. Henry renewed his efforts to escape, but they were closing in fast.

The first one to reach him scratched his legs, leaving inky gashes in the fabric of his pants. Henry kicked it back.

The second quickly replaced the first, attempting to crawl it's way up towards Henry's face. He tried to kick this one away as well, but it was already too far. It scratched at his face, getting ink splatters in his eyes and mouth. 

Henry was desperately trying to free himself, but not before the other searchers approached, all attempting to do the same as the second.

It wasn't long before they were successful, one even throwing itself down Henry's throat. He coughed and choked, but there was nothing he could do to stop the wave of searchers from drowning him in their own ink. 

Henry collapsed.

\-------------------------------------------------------------

He poked his head up from the puddle of ink he was hiding in. Odd. Henry should have found him by now. 

Something was wrong.

This hallway was the only one that he could walk through. Bendy had blocked all the others. There was no way around.

And yet...Henry wasn't coming.

Grumbling, Bendy slowly lifted himself out of the ink to investigate. 

He complained to himself as he slowly made his way back. The old animator couldn't even make it down a hallway. Pathetic.

…

_Oh._

The scene he came upon left little to no questions on how it occured. A group of searchers surrounded Henry's limp form. They seemed at a loss of what to do.

_It's almost like they didn't expect to succeed._

A glint in his...b _eye_...caught Bendy's attention. He turned to find the source of the shine, and came upon Henry's axe. 

It wasn't even that far from him.

The grumbling continued. The Searchers looked among themselves nervously. 

Bendy turned and crouched down to investigate the pentagram that Henry was lying in. It seemed alright. Except...of course. An extra mark in between two points of the star. It was useless.

_That good-for-nothing prophet can't even make a proper pentagram. I suppose I'll have to do it myself._

There wasn't much he could do to erase the mistakes on the current pentagram. But he could add more to it. 

Reaching out a partially-gloved hand, Bendy added a few marks of his own to the pentagram. As he placed the final line, it began to glow in a strange light. Bendy quickly backed up. He didn't want to get caught in the effects.

A sudden brilliant light filled the room. The Searchers that were left turned away from the source of the shine. It didn't do much to stop them from being pulled into it. 

The light dissipated as quickly as it arrived. The Searchers were gone. In fact, all of the excess ink in the room was gone. 

Henry groaned.

Bendy quickly hid around the corner and watched. It would do no good for Henry to see him now. Better wait and see how it goes.

Henry slowly lifted his hands out of the torn remains of the rope. He lifted them to his face...and started waving.

_Odd._

His motions were getting frantic. He shakily sat up, looking around the room with a terrified expression. It was only then Bendy noticed his eyes.

They were completely black with ink, with only small slits of white showing where his gaze was focused.

_Not good. Not good at all._

Henry was panicking. Waving his hand in his face, blinking a lot, and looking desperately around the room. Suddenly, Bendy realized.

_He can't see._

As he got more agitated, Henry began to sweat ink. Bendy watched on in horrified fascination as the old animator seemed to melt into ink right in front of him.

In the process, Henry let out one long terrified horrible scream. And suddenly, all was still.

\-------------------------------------------------------------

Regaining consciousness was a painful experience. Nothing felt right. Henry tried to sit up, and was pulled back to the floor by a puddle of ink. He lay there in silence, with only the constant rumbling of pipes making any sound. 

Henry tried to sit up again. His entire body felt coated in the fowl ink that dripped its way into every corner of the studio. He successfully managed to pull himself upright, but that didn't do much to aid his situation.

Blind, scared, and confused, Henry tried to walk forward just a few steps. He immediately tripped and landed face-first on the hard wooden floor. Henry glanced down, and almost screamed in fright.

Henry could see himself. He was coated in ink, his legs half submerged in a puddle that seemed to follow him around. He would have almost looked like a searcher, had it not been for his tie. It seemed to still be noticeable among the ink, despite also being covered in it. 

Tearing his eyes away from the sight of his own body, Henry noticed something off. A few feet away. A glowing puddle of ink. A faint white outline around what seemed to be an inky footprint. A single noticeable object in a sea of black.

Henry once again tried to move himself forward. His legs, still being half submerged in ink, refused to move him forward more than a few inches. Henry had to resort to crawling. It seemed to work for the searchers. 

He reached the puddle, and glanced around. There, a few feet to the left. Another footprint.

Henry followed the prints down what seemed like a long hallway. At the end, he found a room that seemed to be flooded with a few inches of ink. 

The ink itself was clear as day, and using it as a guide, Henry could tell the proportions of the room, and even where some objects were that he might have run into. It seemed to be a beacon of hope and even then...something prompted him not to walk in. 

It seemed too good to be true. Henry looked around.

Another footprint.

This one seemed to be going down a hallway to the left. The footprints appeared more often here, and seemed to be making a clear path to wherever it was the owner went.

Henry turned, and started to follow the footprints again. The odd feeling he had was left behind in the flooded room. He focused solely on following the prints, and eventually bumped his head into a door. 

Reaching up blindly, Henry eventually found the doorknob and pushed the door open.

He almost shouted in surprise.

Standing right in front of him, clear as day, was none other than Boris the Wolf. Henry had only seen him on the screen as a cartoon character before. And yet here he was, apparently scanning the walls for something.

His ears perked up, and he pulled what looked like a can off of a shelf. Henry moved forward to get a better look at the wolf in front of him. 

Boris suddenly jumped, sharply turning towards Henry. He was holding the can in a way that made it seem like he would use it as a weapon if he needed to. Henry froze in fright. Boris seemed to be looking him over.

After a few moments of silence, Boris slowly lowered the can. He seemed confused, looking Henry up and down. It was then he realized that while he did resemble a searcher, there was no way he looked exactly like one. It must have been an odd sight for the poor wolf.

Henry put his hands up in a placating gesture, and tried to apologize. All that came out was a horrible groan. Boris visibly stiffened. 

Henry touched his throat in shock. Was that him? Did he made that noise?

Boris seemed to relax again as he noticed that Henry was just as confused as he was. He looked around the room nervously, before setting the can down in front of Henry, and turning to walk the other way.

Henry tried to call out to him, but once again the only noise his throat could make was a heavy groan. Boris turned, but didn't stop. 

Henry quickly snatched up the can, and rolled it towards the rapidly retreating wolf. The can hit the back of his foot, and he knelt down to pick it up.

Henry used this time to try to crawl his way towards Boris. He was the only visible thing in the room. If he left...Henry didn't know what he would do.

His emotions seemed to be showing on his face, as Boris whined, his ears flattening against his head. He seemed to want to do something for Henry, but once again he nervously glanced around the room before getting up to leave.

Henry gathered all his strength to push through whatever was blocking his voice. It was heavily distorted, barely audible, but he managed to push out a single word.

_Please._

Boris paused. After a few agonizing seconds, he turned and gestured for Henry to follow him. 

Henry beamed, and quickly tried to keep up with the wolf’s swift pace. Eventually, they came across an ink-stained wall. Boris did something Henry couldn't see, and the wall disappeared. 

Henry walked, or rather crawled, into an unfortunately ink-free room. He looked back up at Boris, who noticed Henry's worried look. He didn't seem to understand what the problem was, and Henry sure wasn't in any shape to convey his worries.

If Henry was going to have any chance of surviving with Boris, he was going to have to learn how to do things the hard way.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boris and Henry learn to get along
> 
> And they were /roommates/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyy guys. Been a while huh? Oops. Anyways, here's another chapter of this inky train wreck

Boris had learned quickly how to avoid the dangers of the studio. It only took your insides being ripped out a few times to give you motivation to survive. 

The first problem was the ink. It was everywhere, seeping into every nook and cranny of the worn-down studio. You could never tell what lurked beneath the smooth black surface of an ink puddle. 

The second problem was shelter. Nowhere was truly safe, monsters lurked everywhere, and heaven forbid you get caught by the dancing demon himself. Even if he hasn't done much dancing as of late.

The third problem was food. Now, being a near-perfect toon, Boris didn't have much need for food. But Briar Label Bacon Soup flooded the studio almost as much as the ink, and it gave Boris something to pass the time. 

And that was his routine for days on end. He found a safe spot. He cleaned up the ink. He went out and stockpiled Bacon Soup. He even found a few toys and decorations to make the small space feel more like home. 

And then one day, that all changed. 

He had known something was off the moment he stepped into the room. It was oddly quiet, not a Searcher in sight. There seemed to be something somewhere else that had drawn their attention.

It was at this thought that a blinding flash of light burst from the room next to him. Shielding his eyes from the initial blast, Boris crept into the room to investigate. 

And that was when he saw him. Henry. He'd recognize that face anywhere. 

And yet there was something off. He seemed worried about his eyes. And then he started melting. 

That would count as a bad thing, right?

After Henry was covered in ink, he let out a single, long, agonizing scream, and fell unconscious. Boris whimpered, then smacked a gloved hand over his muzzle when he realized he wasn't alone. 

Bendy himself had walked over to the limp figure in the middle of the room, leaning over him to investigate the damage. He seemed...frustrated. But then again, with a grin as permanent as a stain of ink on a white shirt, it was hard to tell. 

Grumbling, the demon raised a hand and disappeared into a wall of ink, seemingly no longer interested in his toy. 

Boris hesitated. He wanted to help, but he didn't know what had happened to Henry. He might be different. But he couldn't just leave him there.

So he left footprints. And Henry followed. And now Boris was standing in the middle of his safe room with a Searcher-fied version of Henry. 

Well, at least now he wouldn't have to hunt for bacon soup to make things interesting. 

\---------- 

Henry stood by Boris, not wanting to leave the only pillar of light he had. The lack of ink in the room was initially something Henry would have wanted. No chance of Searchers hunting you down when they didn't have anywhere to hide. But now it was just another obstacle. 

Henry looked up at the wolf and groaned, his voice still being blocked by ink. Boris looked down, the expression on his face giving away his nervousness. 

He attempted to talk through the ink, but all that came out was a string of moans and growls. He tried harder, straining to force the words past his throat, until eventually the anger grew to be too much, and something inside him snapped.

Instinctively, Henry let out a roar, pounding a clawed hand on the wooden floor, the boards splintering beneath the force of his fist. Boris, who had been inching farther and farther away, jumped back at the movement, his ears flattening against his head.

Henry stood still for a moment, breathing heavily, trying to regain control. Something was wrong. He could hear something. Voices. Familiar ones. 

He shook his head violently, small droplets of ink flying from his form like a sprinkler. Boris whimpered, and Henry turned to face him.

He could still see the wolf clearly, backed into a corner, afraid to be in his own safe space. But he could see more too. Sections of a beam extending from the floor. Parts of a shelf. A small section of the floor, right beneath his own hand. 

He was the source of his own sight. The ink had cursed him, and now it was a small blessing. 

Henry waved the wolf back over, and started writing on the ground

\---------- 

It had taken some convincing, but Boris eventually relented to Henry leaving small inky puddles in the corners of the rooms. He managed to figure out the layout fairly quickly, and soon he was able to move around the safe house at will. 

The two unlikely roommates had learned to get along. Boris cooked as best he could, heating up Bacon Soup on his makeshift stove. The heat didn't improve the taste much, but Henry appreciated the effort. 

Henry had also been getting more accustomed to his new body. It was impossible to be able to move easily. He would have to stick to crawling for now. But there were other drawbacks.

Mainly, the other Searchers.

When the Searchers present in the room had been sucked into the spell, it wasn't just their inky forms that became a part of Henry. It was their minds as well. And they were insistent that they be heard.

Henry recognized a few of them. Old employees he never made the attempt to learn much about. Despite being lost to the ink for so long, they still retained bits of their personalities.

But there was one voice that was quieter than the rest. It didn't speak up often, but when it did, it was mostly calming words in fits of rage. Comforting words when things weren't going right. Familiar phrases in an unfamiliar environment.

Henry could never place where he knew the voice, but he didn't mind. It was enough just to have someone he could communicate with. At least in his thoughts, he didn't have to push through layers of ink to talk. 

\---------- 

Henry didn't know how long it had been. Days? Weeks? It didn't matter, he was sick of it.

The studio had taken everything from him. All he wanted to do was leave and never come back. Even if he could never have a normal life again. Even if it was death that granted him his wish.

And so for the third time that day, Henry made his way to the door of the safe house. He patted the metal panels, and turned to look at Boris.

He was busy tuning his banjo. Or at least, he was trying to look busy. He refused to look up, even when Henry starting hitting the door harder, and louder. 

Grumbling, Henry shuffled in the direction of the wolf. He was going to get his attention one way or another.

And that way tuned out to be by walking face-first into a pole.

Boris looked up, clearly trying not to laugh as Henry pulled himself away from the support beam. The voices piped up, some asking where it had come from. Some lamenting their loss of sight.

One saying it wasn't his fault. He wasn't paying attention. It was ok. Go talk to Boris. 

Henry shook his head, and the voices quieted down. He crawled his way to Boris, and put a slightly clawed hand on his leg. He pointed back at the door, and groaned. 

Boris frowned and shook his head. Henry groaned again. Boris shook his head again. 

They could have gone back and forth like this all day until a sudden uproar of voices made Henry grasp the side of his head in pain. 

They were angry, frustrated, upset that Boris would not let them leave. They wanted to go home. _We want to go home. Let us go home! We just want to go home! We-!_

Boris put a hand on Henry's shoulder, the touch startling him out of his own thoughts. The wolf had tears in his eyes, and tears in the fabric of his pants.

Henry tore his razor-like claws out of the toon’s leg, and he howled in pain. Henry backed up, staring at his own clawed hands in shock and horror. He had hurt Boris. He had hurt his friend.

_He deserved it._

Henry hit the side of his own head, quieting the voice, and turned back to the door. 

He looked at Boris.

He was standing up.

It was time to go.


End file.
